


I Struck a Match to Light the Night Sky

by SiryyGray



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Firebender!Sokka, Gen, Mostly Canon Compliant, Sokka (Avatar)-centric, Zuko and Sokka are Best Buds, im lazy DAMNIT!!!, it was supposed to be fire bender but it ended more like..., kinda??, no editing cause its like 3 am, sun touched or fired blessed??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:46:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21914668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SiryyGray/pseuds/SiryyGray
Summary: Watching the flames swirl into patterns, Sokka wants to reach out and feel their warmth. When the sun peaks out from behind any landscape; fields of ice or a beach with trees, Sokka wakes with dawn to greet their glowing lifeline. And when his boldness breaches caution, candlelight never dares to mark him.
Relationships: Katara & Sokka (Avatar), Sokka & Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 439
Collections: AtLA <10k fics to read





	I Struck a Match to Light the Night Sky

It started when he was five.

Or, at least thats when Hakoda noticed something a little off about his eldest.

Simply enough, they had been playing outside, a good ways away from their little collection of huts and snowy walls.

Sokka was sprinting around with Hakoda on his heels, arms outstretched towards his son. It was summer, sorta. For them, this was the warmest time of the year; any other nation would call it a frigid fall or early winter at the very best, but to them it was paradise.

Hakoda, once again, swiped at the boy, chuckling at the yelp that came from him almost being caught.

“Back!” Sokka shouted, “Stay back! You’ll never get me!”

“Sure, sure.” He held up his hands in a placating manner.

Sokka slowed, eyeing him suspiciously, both legs bent and ready to leap away should his dad try to end the game.

Hakoda took a halting step, smiling at his son, before he surged forward with the intent of sweeping up the boy into a sufficiently embarrassing hold over his shoulder, and proudly marching back to the village.

Instead, Sokka launched himself backwards. Into a snowbank.

For a moment, Hakoda just laughed.

He made his way over to the pile of white, ready to pull Sokka up from the cold and console him, the teary eyed kid, about the slip-up all the way home.

A face full of slush sprayed him before he ever got that far.

Sokka, with his light jacket and minimal furs, kicked his way out of the bank, and retook his ready-to-bolt stance.

Hakoda blinked.

“Alright,” he said almost carefully, “I think thats enough for today.”

Sokka frowned. Pouted, really.

“Aw dad!” He whined, crossing his arms stubbornly.

“C’mon kiddo, we’re not supposed to spend this long out here anyways.”

He was finally able to pick up Sokka, mercifully putting him on his back instead of slung over his shoulder like a sack of sea prunes.

Surprise hit him when as he walked; Sokka wasn’t cold. He wasn’t shivering like he had expected, and his clothes were soaked through with heat without a source.

He didn’t say a word, only making notes when a warm nose pressed into the back of his neck, and unfrosted hands fiddled with his braids.

It was a fluke. They’d been running around, playing, it wasn’t too unusual, right?

Still, Hakoda never mentions it to anyone.

* * *

From then on, there are little changes. No one notices, really. It can easily be chalked up to childhood tics or simple disinterest in day to day life.

For years, Sokka is entranced by fire. He sits and watches it for hours on end.

Studying the way it moves, the way it dances, holding his gaze for seconds, stretching into minutes and hours. He never complains about the cold so long as he gets a chance to greet the morning sun.

Often his parents will find him sitting beside a cooking fire, or even a lamp, and have to gently shake him out of the reverie, shaking their heads and laughing how he’s _such a curious boy_.

Once (more than once) he actually _reached out_ to the flames. Almost as though in a trance, his hands grew warmer and warmer, the flames nearly brushing him.

“Sokka!” A shrill voice broke him from the daze, and small hands yanked him back.

Katara, still small enough that her hair only reaches her chin, snatched his hand, studying it for damage before running outside and calling out to their parents.

Their mother rushed in moments later.

“Sokka? Love, what’re you doing in here?”

Katara bounced anxiously, pointing at her brother in an accusatory way.

“He tried to touch the fire! He was gonna get hurt!”

“I was not!” Sokka shot back, folding in in himself and burning pink.

His mother knelt, taking each hand and carefully examining them.

“Well, no burns.” She half mutters, nodding towards Katara, who frowned in confusion, trailing out of the hut and mumbling to herself.

Kya turned, looking just an inch more stern.

“Sokka. You know not to touch fire.”

He grumbled, “Yeah, I know...”

She nudged him, slipping a hand under his chin and meeting his eyes.

“Do me a favour then, hum? Don’t scare your sister like that. She’s a little worry wart, you know.”

He bit back a giggle.

“Can you do that for me?”

Sokka nodded, a promising smile smudging over his cheeks.

He doesn’t keep his promise.

* * *

Sokka still loves to look at fire. Constantly. He keeps a candle beside him at night to lull himself to sleep and, miraculously, it’s never caught onto anything else. Somehow it goes out not long after he does, the wick never more than a pinkie-nail shorter then when he drifted. He never mentions how he will sometimes dip the tips of his fingers into the light, feeling it’s heat tickling his hand and never leaving a mark. He never mentions how sometimes it will swirl up to his knuckles and spin softly over his palm for just a moment before flickering out.

When Katara starts waterbending, all he can feel is anxiety.

Their dynamic stays the same, her demeanour never strays and he loves her all the same but something deep, buried way down in his stomach, believes that she hates him.

He watches her practice and tries to be excited for her, but he can’t.

Instead, he crosses his arms and calls it magic because if it’s magic, then its not _actually_ real and Katara isn’t _actually_ a waterbender and his sister doesn’t hate him.

“It’s an old art,” She tells him, a frown marring her usually sweet features.

“passed down for generations. Gran Gran said it’s a tradition!”

Sokka just shrugs and turns back to the fire he was pretending to stoke like dad had asked him to.

“Just looks like fancy magic to me.”

She stomped, squinting at him in frustration before storming away to kick around some snow.

Sokka stayed by the fire.

* * *

Before the ash ever hit the ground, Sokka knew something was wrong. He felt a burn in his stomach, and even ducking away from the light made him feel dizzy and disorientated. Leaving well lit areas plunged his sight into darkness, but he refused to let it show. He was, after all, training to be a warrior. That and he couldn’t let Katara beat him in a snowball fight, even if she did have a slight upper hand. The squirming in his gut intensified when puffs of smoke mingled with the scarce clouds flitting around the sky, he looked to his dad as ink rained down around him. The burn didn’t stop, and the vertigo didn’t release him until the flags from the big steaming ships sunk below the horizon, and the sun left them to the whims of night.

Every fire in the village was doused with venom and tears.

He heard Katara as she wailed into their fathers shoulder as he sat in their home, wrapped up in his sleeping bag, feeling his own tears caress his face, hot and angry and so very confused.

He slept with his family that night, hugging his baby sister to his chest while Hakoda’s arms enveloped them both. Despite the close proximity and the mountain of blankets adorning the three, he felt cold and alone.

* * *

Two weeks later, Sokka pulled Katara aside, leading her up to the snow tower he had built, even shoving a pile of snow in front of the door once they were both inside. In the freezing silence, absent of wind or sunlight, he told her what he felt. It was the only time he ever told her— anyone, for that matter —about one of the little oddities that refused to leave him be.

He told her that he had known something was wrong, that he knew something was coming. He told her he was sorry. Katara shouted that he was a liar and nearly collapsed the fragile structure. He winced when he heard her angry stomps pounding through the snow. He didn’t move after she left.

Instead, Sokka brought out a candle to light, and watched it burn all the way down to a stub, never moving from his spot or bothering grab a blanket when the night fell. He breathed with it, wishing it didn’t bring him the comfort it did.

That little flame killed his mother. Katara’s mother. His cheeks grew warm and wet. He definitely didn’t cry.

Eventually, a warm fur and thick pillow did find its way to his head and spread over his shoulders in the form of a peace offering.

“Sorry for yelling.” Katara mumbled, settling a lantern between them, laying her own sleeping bag and pillow across from him. He hugged his pillow defensively, staring at the shroud of golden light being cast onto the floor.

“I believe you, Sokka.” He meet her eyes, twin pairs of starling blue staring at one another; surprise and earnestness, respectfully. “Yeah?” He asked, his tone bordering on suspicious.

“Yeah.” She affirmed, offering a meek smile. “Maybe you’re just special like that.”

He chewed his lip in thought, flopping onto his side. “Yeah, maybe.”

* * *

Days turn to weeks, and months to years. Sokka stops using candles to fall asleep, instead finding the light bothersome. He starts to wake up earlier. Gran Gran says it’s because he’s growing, Katara teases him about being lazy.

He just wants to sleep in again.

Every morning he wakes up just as the sun raises quietly above the sheets of ice, reflecting the orange glow into a halo.

Sokka wants to be mad about it, he wants to hate being up so early.

But the view takes his breath away every time. Something comes alive in those moments and it becomes impossible to sleep.

* * *

He and Katara are out fishing when he get’s the same burning in his stomach. The one telling him something is about to happen.

They hit a rough patch and, well, he assumes that was it.

Thank you, Sokka-sense, as Katara nicknamed it. Yet it didn’t taper off or even lessen. In fact, in grew worse.

It was probably just hunger, right? Yeah...

* * *

The Aang, the boy who had been marinating in ice for a century, was the Avatar and a Fire Nation ship has crashed into his home. Wonderful. The burning isn’t leaving his gut, but it’s more of a warmth now. It’s tolerable, almost pleasant.

Their brief encounters with the Fire Nation Prince—Zuko, right? Eh who cares— leave him energized, like he’s ready to take on a whole platoon of soldiers. Problem is, while afterwards Sokka is hyperactive, obnoxiously so, in the moment of battle he feels almost in a trance. He watches the bending like he’s out of his own body, seeing it from an omniscient perspective that doesn’t have to worry about getting hurt or defending his sister. And Aang too now. After their third meet, Sokka manages to shake the dream-like daze from his rolodex of oh so useful skills.

The newfound concentration barely is allowed to be put to use before Aang stumbles across a grumpy, somewhat nice (more like non-hostile) firebender named Jeong Jeong.

There’s something about him that sets Sokka on edge. He tells himself it’s because he’s a firebender, that he just has a bit of natural hate towards the people who started the war.

That’s why a shiver creeps down his spine when he catches Jeong Jeong watching him fish.

“Uh,” He stares helplessly, his way with words abandoning him, though Katara would argue they was never there.  
“can I help you?”

His frown deepened, Sokka felt his skin crawl with the feeling of being examined and dissected but he did his best to mask the feeling. Jeong Jeong remained silent, his gaze growing evermore critical. There was a bubble of annoyance toiling in his chest. “Listen if you’re going to stare at me all day could you at least tell me why?”

“Hum.” Sokka bit back a scowl.

“Where’s Aang? You’re supposed to be teaching him firebending, why isn’t he with you?”

The older man pointed towards a cliffside, his face remaining a stone wall. “Up there.”

“Doing what?” Sokka asked incredulously, wanting to know desperately if this guy was actually just messing with all of them or was some level of senile.

“Breathing.” He deadpanned, arms crossed over his chest like he was growing impatient. Which was wildly ironic because Sokka was still waiting on an answer as to why was being studied by an old Fire Nation solider. He was slowly giving up on getting that answer, though, based on how the very one-sided conversation was turning out. Yet, he tried to find humour in the surprising little riff Jeong Jeong had just tossed him.

“Hah, I sure hope so.” He responded, trying for a light laugh.

“It’s not a joke” Sokka blinked, the smile disappearing his face, leaving a sort of awkward discomfort.

“Oh. Why?”

“Fire comes from the breath.” Jeong Jeong said like it was the more obvious thing in the world.

He watched the man pause, looking slightly thoughtful as he brought a hand to his chin.

“You should learn better breathing too” He declared, worsening Sokka’s feeling of helplessness.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Fire comes from the breath.” He repeated. “Yeah, okay, I don’t see why that matters to me.”

The old firebender waved off the question with an irritated grunt, turning and walking primly away as though he hadn’t just entirely baffled an innocent young idiot.

* * *

Yue told him she felt drawn to him on their second meeting. Her eyes looked a little hazy, like she wasn’t hearing her own words. He shrugged and offered up another goofy joke.

Neither of them brought it up again.

* * *

The North Pole just survived it’s first major brush with the war in decades and all Sokka wanted to do was leave. He was hurting. Emotionally of course, losing Yue had been a shockingly big blow to his morale and overall sense of hope, which had already been dwindling. But physically, he felt awful. The locals called it the Moons Month: twenty eight days without sunlight, the moon staying visible for most of the day. Katara and Aang’s water bending master, the crochety old man who his dumb sister had tried to fight upon second meeting, said it was the best time to learn waterbending, and it would speed up the process for Aang to be able to move on. More moonlight, more connection to the tides and the ocean blah blah blah… Sokka was ready to leave after three days of the sunless landscape.

He felt exhausted, strangely feverish and somewhat disorientated. It was one of the few times wherein Sokka had felt cold in his life; the deep kind of cold that seeps into your skin and keeps you shivering through six layers of furs and insulation from the outdoors.

It was especially frustrating when Katara and Aang both seemed so... lively. Like this long night fuelled them instead of sapping them like it did to Sokka.

He practically became a moth in the week they stayed, trailing after every lamp and torch, reverting back to keeping a candle beside him as often as possible.

He didn’t mention the weariness to anyone, but made sure his discomfort was known.

“We should really be headed to the Earth Kingdom.” He said on the fifth morning, trying to sound casual through his shivers.

Katara sent him a glare, one that promised a good solid smack upside the head if he didn’t let them go about their morning routine in peace. She never was much of early bird.

He held up his hands in defence, “I’m just saying Aang has a pretty good grasp on water and earth is the only element he hasn’t tried yet. It’ll probably be the hardest, right? We’re kind of on a deadline here.”

Aang plopped down beside him, passing a mug of what smelled like ginger tea into the older boys hands.

“Even if you’re right, I still haven’t mastered water yet.”

He grumbled, “Yeah, and why can’t Katara just keep teaching you as we go? She got the Grumpy Old Man approval badge. That’s as good as either of you are gonna get.”

“Bumi is going to teach me, remember? All we have to do is get back to Omashu! It’s a relatively short trip. Only, like, a weekish.” Aang chirped, offering Sokka a lopsided smile. “I still think we should leave soon. Or better yet, now.”

Katara waved her had dismissively, “Don’t pay any mind to him. He’s just tired because he forgot to put out his candle again and now we get to tease him.”

The teasing was indeed endured, he never mentioned that the little flame basically kept him from going crazy in the week of darkness. When they eventually left, he felt a wave of relief rush over every inch of his being. He never realized how much he could miss the sun, and internally he was bewildered by the absence of withdrawal from his travel buddies. They both were apparently invigorated by the darkness.

Sokka just shrivelled up.

Their first morning outside of the North Pole, Sokka awoke to the tickling of sunlight streaming through the crisp air, breathing energy into his lungs and prompting him to find the nearest tree and clamber his way to the top. He wanted to see it, the sun, pulling itself up above the frost-dusted trees and spitting yellows and pinks over the landscape.

* * *

Sokka started dousing the fire at night. Previously, they’d let the ambers burn till morning so they could heat up a pot or cook whatever fish they’d managed to snag, whether it be from a market or stream.

He told everyone it was because of the drier weather. That they shouldn’t risk setting the grass or woods ablaze, especially when they’re away from water.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Snoozles.” Toph, their newest member, said when he brought it up. She gave him a teasing pat to the shoulder and promptly passed out into her little rock tent.

Her words hit the mark way closer than she would ever know.

He _was_ doing it to sleep at night.

After his little brush with darkness in the North Pole, he became more... sensitive to fire.

It kept him up several nights in a row after reaching the Earth Kingdom. It was sort of silly, Sokka was well aware, but he wanted to try putting out the flames earlier. At night it was like he could _feel_ it. Even if he was facing away, in his tent, covered by his sleeping bag, he could tell it was still glowing in the dark, pulsing, breathing, swallowing up bits of cold wind and making sure he didn’t close his eyes until the moon was already nearing the end of its shift. Once, the wind collaborated to re-light the embers into a small flame atop smouldering leafs. He had bolted upright faster then Katara’s water whip and took good care to cover it with dampened dirt before returning to bed.

Maybe he was just an insomniac.

* * *

He’s not an insomniac, turns out.

* * *

In Ba Sing Se he discovers a strange affinity for just... sitting outside.

Doing nothing.

It was just relaxing to him in some way, soaking up heat and warmth from both the sun and the ground like a plant soaks up water.

At some point, a shadow passed over his closed eyes.

He cracked one open.

“Can I help you?”

“Yeah,” Katara says, crossing her arms to looking down quizzically, “why’re you laying on the ground in the middle of the yard?”

His eye slipped shut and he shrugged. “Dunno. It’s just calming.”

She stayed where she was, though, of course, he couldn’t see her face.

“Can I sit with you?” She asked after a long moment.

Sokka wrangled back a smile.

“Yeah, go for it.”

They fell asleep within half an hour. Aang and Toph laughed and teased. Sokka didn’t really mind this time.

* * *

On the Day of Black Sun, Sokka thought he was gonna die.

Not because of the weapons being hurled at them, or the maze of bunkers divided up with lava and collapsed caverns. Not even because of the crazy princess who was scurrying through the same tunnels as them being flanked by some of the most dangerous earthbenders in the world.

It was because the moment the sun was coloured black, every inch of breath was driven from his lungs and he staggered. Even down in the tunnels with, Toph and Aang, where the only light came from the torches scattered along the stone walls, he knew the eclipse had properly started, and it felt awful.

There was dots dancing before his eyes and spreading a tinge of dark green over everything. Sokka stumbled, blinking hard. “You okay?” A voice— Aang’s voice —asked, a hand on his shoulder and suddenly he wanted nothing more than to sleep despite the adrenaline that had been pumping furiously through his veins just moments before.

“Yeah,” he straightened, trying to ignore the way something in him was shrivelling up deep in his chest and writhing like a serpent with a severed tail. He did his best to ignore the growingdizziness and frigid feeling in his hands that made it hard to grip his sword properly.

Later, when Azula had goaded him into a frenzy and they’d wasted nearly all their time, feeling returns to his hands mutedly. He feels in coming before Azula even glances up for some snarky remark they never hear. He practically drags Toph and Aang down the tunnel and into the nearest crevice. The vertigo is finally fading when Toph turns to him with a glare for the ages.

“What are you doing!” She demanded in a loud whisper, looking just about ready to give him a lovely new bruise, “You didn’t even get an answer-“ He held up a hand to cut her off. “The eclipse is over, she was gonna attack.”

Aang stepped between Toph and him ina semi-placating, semi-self-serving way. “How’d you know?” His asked, leaning closer to catch the older boys eye. “She was just… she seemed more confident, I don’t know. Does is matter? We need to get out of here.” He glanced at Toph who nodded begrudgingly and parted the earth in front of them like a staircase. Aang looked at him with a puzzled expression.

“Sorry.” He muttered as they trudged up the stairs, encased almost entirely in darkness. “It wasn’t your fault.” Aang tells him softly, “They knew we were coming.”

Sokka shakes his head silently, knowing that neither of his companions could see it.

* * *

Combustion Man left quite the dent in the Western Air Temple. Sokka was morbidly curious to actually see the damage as he made his way to the open air platform, since it had gotten dark before the dust cleared. He felt the inklings of excitement poking at his back when he was met with the glowing indigo of dawn upon reaching the expanse of smoothed stone. He walked a touch faster to where a ledge faced east, a smile almost gracing his lips when he turned the corner and— Zuko?

Sokka was tempted to rub his eyes, but there he sat, clear as day, facing partially away from the other boy.

It was such a shock that Sokka just stood there and stared for a good minute. Not only had this guy been their enemy up until a day ago, Sokka was always the first one up (even though he really, _really_ didn’t want to be) and company this early was unexpected. Zuko’s feet were dangling over the ledge, hands braced on each side with his eyes closed, bathed in a gentle golden wave of light that made him look almost ethereal.

It felt like a vignette pulled straight from a children’s story, all even and calm. When the shock faded, Sokka spoke an eloquently worded greeting.

“Uhm...”

Zuko’s eyes opened, looking startlingly _bright_ in the new morning light— almost chatoyant —he looked over at Sokka. The mysticism left the image as a slight air of awkwardness came over the pair.

“Uh, hi?” Zuko said hesitantly, looking at Sokka like one might look at a frightened animal.

He stilled completely, “Hi.”

It felt so surreal talking to the same guy who chased them literally from end to end of the world. For the first time in, well, ever, Sokka didn’t feel intimidated by Zuko. Nervous, maybe, but not scared.

“Why’re you up?” He asked tentatively, careful to keep suspicion out of his voice because, really, somehow, he felt a strange affinity with Zuko in that moment.

“The sun.” He responded plainly, “Why’re you up?”

There was a long stretch of silence.

“The sun.”

Wordlessly, the older boy shifted, making room on the ledge for a second, briefly glancing between the newly freed spot and Sokka.

He took it up much more eagerly then he likes to remember.

* * *

This was an awful idea. The whole thing. Breaking into a Fire Nation prison, impersonating the guards, destroying their only way out, and now the stupid plan with the stupid cooler.

Sokka muttered under his breath about every little idiotic decision he’s made _including_ getting Zuko caught.

“He’ll be fine. He’ll be fine. He’ll be fine.”

It was like a mantra as he strode through the halls, failing to mask his air of panic. Even before Zuko had become an ally, a strange type of friend, even, Sokka never wished him dead or harmed. Sure, he talked big around Aang and Katara back when there was a metal ship on their tail day and night, but he didn’t want anything really bad to happen.

Just, like, a broken arm or busted rib so he would leave them be.

He felt like there was a mild understanding of who that random angry teen was. It was chalked up to them both being fighters and determined, but that was a half truth at best.

Either way, he’d seen the coolers. He’d seen what they can do.

Sokka shook his head and firmly planting his teeth on the inside of his cheek, flinching when the taste of metal seeped in.

He steeled himself upon opening the door, reciting the lines, the coded signals on how successful he’d been that he and Zuko had agreed upon beforehand.

He had to refrain from breathing a sigh of relief when Zuko confirmed the cooler was ready for use.

There were a pair of low ranking guards just down the hall and if they both got busted, no one was getting out.

As quickly as he could, Sokka _escorted_ Zuko back to a cell and slipped inside.

Almost immediately, he threw off his helmet and frantically paced the room.

He felt his hands shake and was suddenly so angry.

What did he have to be angry about? He literally had the easiest role in all this and it was his idea and

why was he so worked up over this? Zuko seemed-

Oh.

Sokka finally left his mutters to rest and caught sight of a shivering firebender sitting pressed up against a wall looking a lot younger than he was supposed to.

The irony was unappreciable.

“Hey, hey. You okay?”

He knelt, mindful of giving him space, but close enough to peer under the dishevelled hair that covered his eyes.

“Zuko?”

“Yeah. Just cold.”

Sokka frowned, “Okay I’m no magic truth finder like Toph but I know a bad lie when I see one.”

He stubbornly planted himself down, crosslegged, one foot nudging Zuko’s until he looked up in irritation, then surprise. Like he hadn’t expected Sokka to be wearing an expression of genuine concern. “C’mon, talk to me man. We’re in this together and it was my dumb plan that got you in there to begin with. Tell me how I can help.”

A sigh of resignation signled a small cheer in Sokka’s head. “I don’t think you’d really get it but…” He nodded encouragingly, Zuko continued.

“Bending is a part of me as much as touch or sight or a limb. Especially for firebenders, it’s literally an extension of our breathing.” Zuko told him. It sounded like a drilled phrase, like it was something everyone should know.

“But when we’re forcefully cut off from it,” He held out his hand, a small flame flickering into existence, “it… hurts.” The fire sputtered out pitifully.

Sokka stared at the now empty palm, dumbfounded.

“You ever have hypothermia?” Zuko asked suddenly, drawing his hand back to break Sokka out of the mini-trance.  
He nodded, “Once, yeah.”

“It’s like that.” He grimaced; even though he wasn’t able to bend, he felt like he understood entirely. Memories from his stay at the North Pole were popping up and reminding him what merely not have sunlight was like. Firebenders practically _live_ off sunlight and warmth so getting shoved in a cooler for several hours...

His hands itched to do something useful, so he grabbed the thin blanket and (blessedly) flexible futon that laid in the corner and, with as much care as possible, dumped them over Zuko.

To his surprise, there was a faint chuckle. Who knew it was even possible? “Any better?”

The mound of blankets shifted until a messy head of hair re-emerged with a faint smile and a nod. He slid over to the door and listened for a moment, just to be sure no one was eavesdropping on their conversation, also to mask the obvious relief that he honestly didn’t have the right to feel. Zuko was okay…ish, which was good, but they were still trapped in a literal prison stronghold for the time being and Hakoda didn’t seem to be here. It wasn’t the time to celebrate yet.

“Hold on, how do _you_ know what hypothermia’s like?”

* * *

Here he was, getting stared at again.

“What?” He asked incredulously, his voice cracking in a way that made him glad Katara wasn’t around to hear. “Nothing.” Zuko responded. Clearly, he didn’t take the hint to _stop_ because his gaze held steady, trained on Sokka.

“If it’s nothing, why are you looking at me like I just grew a second head?”

He set aside the rice he’d been nursing to fully turn towards the firebender sitting next to him.

It was early; no one else, save a grouchy Appa, was up yet.

This had sort of become a routine for them, getting up to watch the sun paint the sky like a toddler with a new set of watercolours. Ever since the Western Air Temple, they’d found neutral ground in the dawn light, and after their little field trip of slight criminal activity, they’d embraced it.

Lucky for them, water has a special way of complimenting a waking sun; the view from the vacation house they crashed (Zuko’s vacation house, actually) was worth every missed minute of sleep.

“I am not.” He said stubbornly. And what and outright lie it was. So, in turn, Sokka stared right back. He wasn’t particularly good at keeping his eyes open, but spite was a powerful thing at times.

“Are you sure you’re not a bender?” Zuko asked about a minute into the one-sided staring contest.

Sokka blinked, his mouth coming down into a frown and his eyes thinning into an unimpressed, half-lidded look.

“I am reasonably certain that I am not a bender, yes.”

For some reason, Zuko looked both flustered and unconvinced.

“What?” Sokka smirked, nudging the older boy with his elbow, “You think I’m a secret super-bender or something?”

He stood abruptly, throwing up his hands, “I don’t know!”

Now, he wasn’t being loud— which he could if he wanted to —but he rarely showed this much, um, enthusiasm? Closer to zest, really.

The boy began to pace, “Ever since we met the dragons—“

“Actually I didn’t get to meet the dragons,” Sokka interrupted, sounding very matter-a-factly till he found himself being glared quite intensely at. “Sorry, continue.”

Zuko sighed, “Ever since then I can see fire differently. And the sun, and stars and—and firebenders.” His eyebrows pinched together in frustration. Sokka was growing more quizzical by the moment.

“Okay, weird. But what does any of that have to do with me?”

“Because I feel power from you in the same way I feel power from a real flame.” Sokka fell silent and very very still. “It happens around other firebenders too.” Zuko told him gently, helplessly, “When did this start?” Now, did Sokka trust Zuko? Yes. A surprising amount, if he was being honest. However this is… a lot to take in. And easy to doubt. “I think it was always there, I just didn’t know how to see it.” He shrugged, looking almost apologetic.

“What about at the Boiling Rock?” Sokka asked. “Thought it was just a fluke; I wasn’t looking for a pattern. I didn’t really take notice until after we ran into Azula.”

A laugh bubbled up from inside Sokka’s throat, bursting out in a quick chuckle. “Then it probably was a fluke.” He shrugged noncommittally, waving off Zuko’s attempt to speak. “I’m a not a bender and I’ve _always_ been okay with that. You’re just overthinking this buddy.”

Zuko sighed in exasperation and shook his head. It felt like they were coming to a standstill; Sokka was speaking pure truth and facts while Zuko was steadfast. Immovable object, meet unstoppable force.

“You think I’m crazy.” The firebender crossed his arms, looking almost offended. Miffed too, but that was more a default expression. “No, I think you’re imagining things.” He responded flippiantly, tossing an oh-so-charming smile to the little grouch staring holes into the floor with his eyes.

“I’m not.” He sounded shockingly sincere. Admittedly, Zuko was kind of a hard read; he buried a lot and doesn’t let them know when a line is being crossed, but when he’s genuine it’s easy to see. Sokka’s smirk fell into a hard line. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

Zuko sat down beside Sokka once again, looking equally perplexed as the other. “I don’t know how to correctly explain it, but somethings there.”

“Is there any way too, like, test it?”

Another shrug. “Not a clue.”

The two sat there, contemplating for a while.

Their food was cold.

Sokka looked out over the horizon, like an answer would be floating atop the fields of inked-in pinks and yellow.

A hand was being offered to him. He looked at it suspiciously, then looked up to it’s owner. “Just give me your hand. I have an idea.”

Reluctantly, he let Zuko, with his almost strangely calloused fingertips and a beat-up looking palm (maybe it was a firebender thing?) take hold of his hand.

He appeared to be studying it for a moment, like that old fortune teller they’d ran into months back, reading the lines or something like that.

Keeping Sokka’s palm facing upwards, resting in his grip, he experimentally hovered his own over the softer set of digits. He watch Zuko, saw his face twist just a little here and there, like he was searching for something. It was the same look Katara had when she was healing something that was already scabbed over.

They were both digging for something long buried, or non-existent. Zuko lifted his hand away from Sokka’s.

His eyes went wide and Sokka’s hand bled light. The warmth radiated up his arm, a stream of orange and red writhing around in a dance with far too many steps rose up higher, following the hand that guided it. He felt something expanding in his chest, it pushed every moment in him life where he felt something wasn’t quite right and tied it up with a neat little bow. It was like Zuko was pulling a rope made from fire straight out of his palm— Beautiful. It doesn’t even know it’s not supposed to be here.

The fire curled into a ball over Zuko’s hands. He was staring at it in wonder and shock, cradling it delicately like it was the most valuable thing on the planet.

Sokka was staring, gapping, watching the sputtering ball twist and spin tighter into its shape. He looked up, bright blue staring into a different shade of gold.

“You didn’t—“

“No.”

Somehow, his jaw sunk future into the floor.

“So _I_ —?” They both watched the flame whip away in a puff of white smoke.

“Yeah.” Zuko’s hands dropped down to his side and they watched the empty space. “What just happened.”

“I have no idea.”

**Author's Note:**

> Okay I am aware that Polar nights occur in both the North and South Poles, so technically this would be something Sokka had experienced before. However! I don’t care. It was a cool idea and I wanted to use it. Plus the point can be made that because The Southern Water Tribe had shrunk so much they had moved further North for trading and information purposes where there were nearby islands and such. I mean, it didn’t take them that long to reach the Air Temple, so it stands to reason. Also, who cares lmao this is a fantasy world and this is my story damnit I make the rules. This was for a prompt by the by! Sent in from Carnistcervine asking for Firebender!Sokka. Which I only half did… sorry. Come bug me on mu Tumblr and slide some requests Liathgray!


End file.
